


i don't need a reason to keep on dreaming that we can win at anything at all

by arrowsanonymous



Category: The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Heavy Angst, Mortality, fuck how do i tag, uhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26837692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrowsanonymous/pseuds/arrowsanonymous
Summary: meg dies. apollo follows.
Relationships: Apollo & Meg McCaffrey
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51
Collections: the trials of apollo fic exchange





	i don't need a reason to keep on dreaming that we can win at anything at all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moodyseal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodyseal/gifts).



As a god, I find myself thinking about mortality more often.

Now, when you’re a god, you have all the time in the world to look at humans and their short lifespans, then turn it into something philosophical, just like Athena always does. I do it, but not as a hobby. I do it out of curiosity. Nobody else seems to care about the classes Athena teaches at the New Rome university, so usually I come to her lectures as a mortal and listen.

Getting all contemplative and musing over random stuff is basically what poetry is, so I never find Athena’s speeches about philosophy or theology boring. It gives me the ideas I need, gets my brain working, and provides the rare instances where I sit down, shelve my ego for three hours, and pay attention.

I know Athena would never go near the topic of mortality and humanity, though it’s in the syllabus and her own notes—meticulously planned, detailed, and yet never talked about. She really likes wasting her time on planning stuff she never actually gets finished. I feel bad for all of her kids; they’ve inherited that trait, too.

So, when I walked in just a minute too late—late enough to see the title screen of her Keynote presentation—I froze. The iced nectar in a Starbucks cup that she had on her desk, the way her figure seemed minuscule because I’d gotten a seat at the very back, next to a young man I’ve befriended while LARPing as a uni student named Andrew, the silver finish of her MacBook Pro, it all didn’t matter compared to the heading, in Greek, Latin, and English, with Comic Sans used for the last language.

A dyslexia-friendly font. Every letter was in a different neon color, and I couldn’t help but laugh silently, though what it said was enough to damp the funny out of the text.

_ Mortality. _

And I listened. I even took notes, not that I don’t usually take notes, but I even bothered to make it look pretty enough for Instagram. Athena explained her thoughts on the concept, biased as she is. I found myself agreeing with her.  _ What is mortality? What makes you mortal, when immortals exist? Immortals can fade. They can, for a lack of a better word, die. What makes them different from humans? Animals? _

I didn’t have the answer back then, and handed in a half-assed essay just for fun which Athena graded a generous C-. My friend, Steven, had frowned and took me out for coffee in order to discuss why I’d gotten such a low score.

But now, as I kneel in front of my master, friend, companion, Meg McCaffrey, I realize that I do have an answer. Enough answers for a long essay. A thesis, even, if I’m bored enough.

I have  _ the _ answer. And I wish I don’t.

“You can’t… heal… me…” Meg rasps, looking up at me. I can see her eyes, glazed over with pain, unshed tears glimmering, shards of her broken glasses threatening to blind her forever. That’s not what I’m worrying about, though. I shift my gaze to her gut, seeing the dark blood slowly seep out, brownish matter made up of blood and bile already staining Meg’s lips.

_ An abdominal tear.  _ I know this. I also happen to know that it’s way too likely that my young friend will die this time. I can’t save her by sucking out the poisonous, prophetic bees from her lungs to mine. I can’t give her body warmth or spend all of my energy trying to heal Meg when I know I can’t afford that. Yet, I still can’t let her go.

“I’ll heal you,” I counter, ignoring common sense. “I’m the god of healing, gods-damn it, I can heal you if I want to!”

Meg knows I’m trying to convince myself more than her, because I’ve been pouring all of the divine energy into her, and yet, I feel no improvement. “It’s fine,” she mumbles, “I’ll be fine. No one will miss me. You’ll forget me when you become a god again.”

“It’s  _ not  _ fine!” I insist, trying to push more of my divine power into Meg, tapping into my very core, trying to race against time and the Fates’ string. “I won’t forget you. I can’t. Just stay alive, stay alive, stay alive, stay alive, stay a—”

“Stop,” Meg says quietly, weakly, but an order just the same. My tongue suddenly feels cemented to the roof of my mouth, obeying her order. Curse this stupid slave-master bond. Why did I get such a self-destructive master, who won’t let anyone love her?

I don’t know how else to heal her, or keep her here on Earth long enough for her to get medical attention. She’s taken away my rational thinking and my speech, and I can’t even think  _ How dare you _ . I’m tired of injustices happening to those I hold dear, what with Jason—my  _ brother _ —and now, Meg.

Will mortality never get easier?

Zeus probably doesn’t care about my dear friend Meg, only my tasks, though I’m so tempted to pray. I’m already on my knees anyway. What’s a little more?

Despite this thought, though, I don’t. I know it’s futile. I look into her eyes, both of us knowing that the Fates are cutting her string, so young and forced to grow up too early. Her eyes shimmer with tears. It cuts through the grime on her cheeks, finally falling.

Her ragged breath eventually slows, barely there, and I know it’s time for her to go. “I release you from my service,” Meg whispers, lifting a cold hand to touch my cheek, “Apollo.”

Her eyelids flutter closed for the last time, her hands fall, and I kneel over the dead body of my once-alive, vibrant, friend, companion, and master, Meg McCaffrey.

I exhale.

There’s no time for grief. No time for tears, though  _ damn _ , I want to. I glance at the injured snake, Nero’s puppet all along, and I stand up. My clothes are drenched with blood, mine and Meg’s, and I feel weak. The red liquid drips down, staining the ground, my arms patterned with lines of blood that looks too much like arteries.

Nevertheless, I know I have to win this fight. Somehow. Even if it costs me my own life.  _ How far we—I’ve—come,  _ I think idly, nocking another arrow with my shaking hands.  _ Just one more. One more.  _ I refuse to die before Python does. I have a duty that I owe to the demigods at Camp Half-Blood, at Camp Jupiter, and at all of the unclaimed demigods.

Maybe Zeus can make her death an example. A cruel reminder. Or maybe I can refuse to let her life be another “I told you.”

Python’s eyes meet mine, and my arrow flies as his tail grabs me from behind and crushes me like I’m an insignificant soda can. This mortal body really is weak, though I doubt my divine form could’ve survived that, either. Lester. Apollo. Both the same; foolish, arrogant. All Lester has going is humanity.

He fades. I fall to the floor, knowing that the damage is too severe for me to even live for long. The light dusting of yellow monster dust that the cave is now covered in chokes me, but I can’t breathe anyway. I feel my organs being physically ruptured. Pain is all I am and all I know.

But I’m fine with it.

Rachel, my priestess, has a clear mind now. She can channel the Oracle without Python interfering. She will help demigods of future generations. Nico and Will, Reyna, Hazel, Lavinia, Frank, and everyone else, they can live in peace. I know this. My death will be made into an example for the Olympians. The trauma we gods have caused will never fade, I know, but I hope that the effort I’ve put into remembering how it is to be human up until this point has an effect on the world. I can’t win, but the people I care for might.

_Can I hand in the essay before I die?_

The cave is silent, quiet, so unlike my loud and noisy self. Maybe it’s just another one of the Fates’ games, but—surprisingly—I don’t mind. They can have their fun, even if it’s found in my death. It’s not like I’ll be aware of it for much longer.

I close my eyes and I count my own heartbeat.

_ One, two, three. One, two, three. _

_ One, _

_ two, _

_ three. _

**Author's Note:**

> im bad at summaries ok? ok


End file.
